


The Thirst of the Ascetic

by accol



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Blood, Dreams, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Submission, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blade dreams of Deacon Frost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirst of the Ascetic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Porn Battle XIV (Fiery Fourteen)](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/526639.html?thread=32563759#t32563759) for the prompts: _blood, power, dreams_

Sweat rolled off of his skin, the musk of him wholly human even if the thirst inside of him was not.   
  
 _Thwack._  
  
His fist hit the bag. He kicked it. Kneed it. Blood pumped through him in hot torrents, forcing its hunger to the surface as his knuckles cracked against the canvas with meaty power. Harder he pummeled it, the seams straining to their limit, seams popping as he beat it into submission.  
  
Sand spilled onto the dojo floor with a drop of Blade’s blood, trickling from his torn skin to fall upon the shifting whiteness. And Frost was still out there, smug and power hungry, his minions swarming about him, begging for a piece of the new, young, rising ruler.  
  
There was more to Frost beneath the surface, though. Blade couldn’t stop the dreams that showed him Deacon poring over the ancient texts, feeding and fucking but always with his mind tickling on the problems of strategy. He couldn’t stop seeing Deacon with eyes of blood and the power to devour with a look. Night after night he saw himself chained at Frost’s feet, a prized half-breed warrior whose capture was evidence of Frost’s complete and utter domination of the night.  
  
It was a nightmare, because Blade woke up wanting it.   
  
His blade sliced through the remnant flesh of the punching bag until it was tattered strips, empty of purpose and limp. Blood thirst threaded its way through him. It corrupted all of his drive to do what was right into nothing more than animal need.   
  
Now, while it was daylight beyond his shuttered room, he let it take him. His fangs broke the skin of his lips and he sucked down his own flavor with the fervor of a starving man. He knelt on the remains of the bag and pulled away his clothes to give himself to this fantasy.  
  
“I won’t go without a fight, Frost,” he growled to the room, seeing himself pinned beneath the Blood God, feeling that power radiate across his skin in seductive waves. “If you want me, you’ll have to take me.”  
  
His vision of Frost smirked, baring his blood-stained teeth. Frost was silent when he forced his cock into Blade’s waiting mouth, and Blade was silent as he palmed his own.


End file.
